


Living Eucharist

by orphan_account



Category: The Bible
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Foot Fetish, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Religions, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-26
Updated: 2010-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John offers Jesus a drink. Jesus does the same in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living Eucharist

**Author's Note:**

> It didn't work as well as I thought it would. Oh well.
> 
> Unbetaed, so C&amp;C welcome.
> 
> Remember to check the pairing/tags before reading.

Even the sunlight seemed to recognize Him. 

He stood by the water's edge, the rushing river's surface reflecting a play of light on his simple robe, his arms extended up towards the sky that had blessed him. 

The man he had come with, an uncle, John assumed, stood some distance away, a troubled look on his dark brow. John paid him no mind. Neither did he he care for the crowds gathered on the river front, those staring at the man from Nazareth, who couldn't know in whose presence he stood. They came here to be blessed by John, a worthless, ordinary man, to have their dirty lives cleansed by the cold harsh river. They were blind to the hand of grace on Jesus's head, to the glory of God shimmering on his skin. 

John began to wade towards the shore, shoving past the man in fine cotton who stood next to receive his baptism. "Lord," he called, having no mind but to follow and serve. "My Lord." 

Jesus turned as John reached him and placed both hands on John's shoulders, as if on an old friend's. _His smile. Oh, sweet God._ John shivered with joy.

"I have been called to go into the desert to fast and pray," said Jesus. "I shall go immediately." 

"Stay a while," John begged. "Just for tonight. Allow me to serve you, though I am not worthy." 

Jesus studied him, soft brown eyes that somehow burned right into John's soul. "Very well."

*

Jesus lifted a cup of wine to his lips, an offering from one of John's disciples. A lucky chance - John himself had sworn not to touch sweet wine, having taken to the hermit's diet of locusts and honey, and the wine would have been spoiled soon under the hot sun. 

John studied Jesus as he drank, watched the thick workman's neck, the Adam's apple prominent under the Lord's growth of black, coarse beard. Though Jesus was a young man, he was burly and strong, and would do well in the desert even without the protection of angels. Beautiful he was not, but what of it? He had the only grace that mattered.

They were sitting together under John's tent, little more than a canvas stretched over a two poles with a hard straw mat on the ground for the guest's seat. 

"I shall kill my goat for your supper, Lord," John offered. 

"No," said Jesus. "I will not eat until our heavenly Father sends me a sign." 

"Then let me wash your feet, and rub soothing oils on your temples."

Once more, Jesus smiled, and it seemed to fill John with a reflection of His sacred light.

He scurried to fetch the oils and a bowl of water from his cave, where the rock was cool to touch even in midday. By the time he returned, Jesus had emerged to sit outside the tent, resting in the shadow of a tree. Down the hill, by the river, the penitents had set up camp, and there was the sound of singing, and of babies crying, and the low murmur of voices, the swish of robes, and the crackling of fire. John had no doubt that there would also be some sinning going on, if only so there would be more to forgive when the Baptist returned to his vocation in the morning. 

"My Lord." John set the bowl of water by Jesus' feet, and, without looking up, his hands shaking, reached out for a foot. 

Jesus lifted one sandalled foot, and put it into John's hands.

John unlaced the well-worn leather sandal carefully, strap by strap, mindful not to touch the Lord until it was time. Finally he slid the shoe off, the ball of Jesus' foot falling into his left palm. He grasped it lightly, fingertips gently pressing against sacred skin.

(_There can be no sin_, John thought, not even if he had done this sort of thing with prurient thought before, had--)

John dipped his right hand into the scented water. He spread the glistening water over the foot's arch, around the ankle, back to the arch and then down, over the four long toes and the one short nub, then moistened his hand again. He slipped his fingers between the toes, each gap in it's turn, washing out sand and sweat. 

His hands were steady now, but the rest of him was shaking. Jesus was perfect, so his foot was perfect, too, and the intimacy of this human touch was almost too much to bear. 

And then there was the second foot. 

By the end of it John was gasping, quite unequal to the task of standing up, even to rub oils in Jesus' brow as he had promised. Jesus did not seem to notice; instead, he lay one hand on John's head, caressing his matted hair.

"This is the beginning," Jesus said, and something in his voice made John look up, and see to his astonishment that Jesus himself was bent back against the tree, gasping with his mouth open, as if he was (receiving the services of a harlot, or a beautiful boy) in a sacred passion. "I give myself to you, Father," he moaned. 

Did he mean God? Or did he mean--

Jesus suddenly gripped John's hair, hard, and sat up, grasping John's head between his hands. His fingers dug into the back of John's head. 

"This is my body, this is my blood," Jesus growled, his eyes burning. He lifted aside his tunic, revealing a short, thick manhood that poked out of a tightly curled bed of hair.

John understood. 

This was the Son of God. There could be no sin. 

John pushed his head into the Messiah's lap and took him inside his mouth, accepting the thickness and the heat and the fluid and the sex. The blood and the flesh of the Lord filled his mouth, slipped into his throat. Jesus grunted and shoved his hips forward, rolling like the waves of the ocean, like harlots' hips at the market, like God, for he was God, like man, for he was a man, too. 

John suckled like a child. 

When they were done, John covered his fingers in oil, rubbed it between his hands to warm it, and anointed the Saviour, from his manhood to his toes, to the crown of his sacred head. Eventually Jesus stopped his hand, pulled him down, and kissed him, warm and human, and tasting of sweet wine.

Jesus went to sleep with his uncle in the camp, and left for the desert in the morning. John lay awake that night under the stars, full of the consciousness of God, a speck of dust trying to hold all creation in his fragile form.


End file.
